Unknown
by PeanutButter12
Summary: I swear to god, if Seth Clearwater looks at me like that one more time I'm going to knock his front teeth out. Okay, probably not, but it's a nice fantasy. Seth/ OC fic.
1. Chapter 1

"Come on, Sophia. Don't be unreasonable."

There was not a chance in hell I was going in that house ever again. I swore it to myself nine years ago and I was not about to betray my seven year old self.

I crossed my arms over my chest stubbornly. "Do they have an orphanage or something around here?"

My father sighed. "I know you're not happy about this right now, but you'll get used to it eventually. I promise you."

"Since when are your promises valid, huh?" It gave me satisfaction to watch him cringe.

"Be fair, Sophia," he said weakly. "I can understand that what happened to your mom has taken quite a toll on you, but try to make an effort with me please."

"You have the nerve to-to-" I stammered. "_Make an effort!_ You- you've got to be joking! How can you even say that? You fucking hypocrite!"

"Sophia-" he started, but I had already snatched up my bag and started jogging down the street. "Sophia, come back!" I didn't look back.

After about ten minutes of running the drizzle turned into rain in earnest. I had no idea where I was going, no recollection of the layout of the town I grew up in. By the time I stumbled upon a convenient store I was soaked to my skin and freezing.

I sighed as the heat enveloped me when I opened the door. I walked to the counter and cleared my throat. The guy at the counter looked up from his book and raised his eyebrows. "Get caught in the rain?"

I ignored his question. "Do you have a bathroom?"

"It's in the back corner," he said as he handed me a gold key attached to a big, red, plastic rectangle that read_ bathroom. _

"Thanks," I said waving the key at him.

The bathroom was surprisingly clean. It was cute actually. Cozy. It had wallpaper patterned with tiny wolves and little ceramic wolves in varying colors prowling along a shelf guarding the soap and paper towels. Somebody around here had an unhealthy obsession with wolves. I smiled, picking up one of the larger wolves with dark fur. I set back down, my face dropping back into a frown.

I changed out of my wet clothes and into jeans, my favorite brown boots, and the light blue rain coat I had so unhappily purchased in preparation for my move to rainy La Push. Once, I was in dry clothes I felt much better.

Changing my clothes didn't fix my face, though. Purple circle ringed my dark blue eyes, my freckles stood out against my pallid, sick looking skin, my lips were chapped, my blond hair was straggly and limp. I looked seriously unwell.

I quickly averted my eyes from my reflection and picked up my sopping clothes and trainers.

Back at the counter, I asked the clerk for a plastic bag to put my clothes in.

"Sure," he said. "There you go." He smiled a white smile at me. His teeth stood out brilliantly against his russet skin. I attempted a half smile back at him.

I started to hunt around the store for something good to eat. I was deliberating between the marshmallow and the peanut butter protein bar when a voice spoke from right behind me.

"The peanut butter is better."

"Jesus!" I said, whipping around. "Don't sneak up on people like that!"

He held his hands up defensively. "Whoa. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

I instantly felt bad for yelling at him. "Alright, apology accepted." I paused. "The peanut butter, you think?"

"Totally," he smiled. "The marshmallow is too sugary."

"You're probably right," I said, setting the marshmallow bar back down and heading to the refrigerators. He followed me. I grabbed a bottle of Nesquick chocolate milk and turned around. He was standing there watching me. I raised my eyebrow.

"Are you trying to be creepy?" I asked. He blushed.

"No, sorry."

"I'm just messing with you. Relax."

"Oh, okay," he said, clearly confused. "So what's your name anyways?"

"Lisa." It was the first name that came to mind.

"I'm Embry."

"Nice name," I replied, at a loss at what to say. I passed him, searching for chapstick. He trailed after me, of course.

"Are you new to town or something?" His dark eyebrows knitted together. "I don't think I've ever seen you before."

"Yeah, I'm new, I guess." I spotted the chapstick hanging on the lowest rack and bent down to retrieve one.

"What do you mean you _guess_?"

I glanced up at him and was suddenly struck by how incredibly tall he was. I grabbed a tube of cherry balm and straightened up. I felt like a dwarf next to him.

I walked over and set my items on the counter. Embry walked over and began scanning my purchases.

"Are you going to answer my question?" he asked.

"Oh," I said. "I used to live here when I was little. I moved to Georgia when I was seven so I'm new and I'm not," I shrugged. He handed me my bag of stuff.

"See you around, Lisa."

"What? Oh- yeah, see you around, I guess." I headed for the door and then abruptly turned around halfway there. "I like the bathroom by the way. The wolves. They're cool."

"Really? You like it? Do you like wolves or something?" He was beaming, his eyes dancing as if he was enjoying some private joke.

I smiled at little and shrugged. "Yeah, I guess."

_"I guess,"_ I heard him mutter as I walked out the door. "Does she say anything else?"

I grinned in spite of myself.

Now that I was outside the store I was faced with the dilemma of where to go. I decided to walk around for a while until I came up with a solution. Thankfully the rain had lightened up and equipped with my raincoat I remained pretty dry. I listened to my Ipod and munched on my protein bar. Embry had been right. The peanut butter was good.

After a half an hour or so, my food was gone and I still had no place to go. I felt like crying. I sat on the edge of the road and tapped my foot anxiously and stuffed my hand in my boots. Panic was beginning to set in in earnest when a gray truck pulled up beside where I was sitting.

I had no other option. I got in.

"Sophia, do you have any idea how worried I was?" My father said the moment I shut the door.

"I'd guess about as worried about me as you have been the past nine years of my life," I replied dully.

He ignored my remark and turned on the heat. "You must have pneumonia."

We were silent the rest of the way home.

He held open the front door of the house to let me in. I gritted my teeth and stepped over the threshold. The moment wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it would be, but my pride definitely took a hit.

"Your bedroom is-"

"-The last door on the left. What do you think I have amnesia? I lived here for almost half my life, remember?"

"I know. I'm being silly."

I rolled my eyes and ascended the stairs. The upstairs hallway was just as I remembered it. The same three pictures hung on the wall (my parents on their wedding day, my fourth grade picture, and mom and I building a sand castle on first beach). The floor creaked in the same places. It still smelled like Dad's famous double chocolate cookies. Tears welled in my eyes. I wiped them away angrily.

My room was packed with boxes of my stuff that had been shipped over a little while before I had moved. I searched through the boxes until I found the one with _bedding _scrawled across it in my messy handwriting. I pulled out the comforter and draped it over my bed. I would worry about unpacking later. For now all I wanted was to sleep. I kicked off my boots and shed my raincoat and then crawled into bed and promptly fell asleep.

I passed the next few days in my room, unpacking all my things. I came out only for meals, to use the bathroom, and to shower.

On the Sunday before my first day, I sat at my desk absently tapping keys on my crappy old electric keyboard when my dad appeared in the doorframe.

"It looks really good in here, Park," he grinned.

"Thanks," I said as unemotionally as I could manage.

He walked over to my bookshelf and ran his fingers over their spines. "You've always loved to read."

I bit back the cutting retort that immediately sprang to my lips and said instead, "Wonder who I got that from."

He chuckled and glanced over at my bed. I knew he was looking at my sketchbook and I scrambled to put it away.

"You're still in to art, huh?"

"Yeah, pretty into it," I said sarcastically, tucking my pad into my underwear drawer. I turned around and crossed my arms. He seemed to sense that I was done talking to him.

"I won't be here in the morning because I have to work. I've arranged a ride for you with one of my buddy's daughter. Carrie Whether. She's going to pick you up at 7:30, okay? Try to be nice. You guys could be friends."

I seriously doubted that.

"Okay, hun?"

"Okay," I sighed.

"Night, Sophs."

"Goodnight, Dad."

He smiled and closed my door.

I woke up the next morning with a flurry of nerves. Every outfit I put on seemed like I was trying to hard or trying to little. I finally settled on my favorite pair of holey, light wash, skinny jeans and a navy and white polka-dot button up.

I ate a few bites of cereal, but was to worked up to eat any more. After I was done, I sat in the kitchen's bay window untying and retying my converse.

When Carrie Whether's beat up old Ford Taurus pulled into the driveway, I grabbed my light blue cardigan and slipped my backpack on to my shoulders and rushed to the door. Taped over the peephole was a note that read, _Have a good first day at school! Here's some lunch money, -Dad_, and five bucks. I shoved both the money and the note in my pocket and exited the house.

My first impression of Carrie was that she was beautiful. Light brown hair, pale green eyes, and slightly tanned skin. Her hair was thrown into perfectly messy bun. She was wearing a Quileute Tribal High School soccer team shirt and jeans. She was one of those girls who always looked effortlessly perfect, sloppy but gorgeous. I would bet a my life savings that she ate whatever the hell she wanted with not a single concern and _still _had abs. Ugh.

She smiled and stuck her hand out. I took it and we shook.

"I'm Carrie."

"Sophia," I nodded. She backed out of the driveway.

"Okay then, Sophia. So how are you liking La Push so far?" she asked politely.

"Um, it takes some readjusting…"

"I'll take that as not at all," she laughed. I rubbed my neck sheepishly.

"It's the rain," I said, frowning at the droplets on the windshield. "I don't like rain."

"Did you live somewhere sunny before?"

"Atlanta, Georgia." She nodded.

"Don't worry. You'll get used to it soon enough."

"If you say so." She laughed and pulled into a parking space and stopped the car.

"What do you have first period?"

I rummaged through my backpack for my schedule. "Um… Honors Chemistry 1 and 2 with Mr. Barth."

"Oh, lucky you," she grinned. "We have it together."

Mr. Barth surprised me. I was expecting a tall, lean, 50-something with lots of moles, big old fashioned glasses, coffee stained teeth, and a bad attitude. He was nothing like I imagined.

I was right about him being in his fifties, but that was about it. He was short and stout. Short, curly blond hair covered his head and he had stubble around his jaw as if he had forgotten to shave that morning. Behind his glasses (rectangular and modern not old fashioned as I had guessed) were pale blue eyes that sparkled with curiosity. He had a jolly smile and a fun aura about him. I could tell just by looking at him that he was a good teacher.

I approached his desk shyly. He smiled at me and asked if I was the new student.

"Yes."

He consulted a sheet of paper on his desk. "You would be… Sophia Long, then?"

"Yes."

"Well, welcome to Honors Chemistry. I'm Mr. Barth. You may take a seat wherever you would like."

"Okay, thank you."

Carrie had saved me a seat near the back of the classroom. Five minutes into class, her head drooped down onto the table. I had to shake her awake at the end of class.

"Sorry about that," she apologized as we left the classroom. "I had soccer practice at five this morning. I'm exhausted."

"It's fine," I said dismissively. "I get it."

"What do you have next? Gym?"

"Yeah. Do you?" I asked hopefully.

In answer, she grinned at me.

God, I hated gym. I was so bad at it. I hated being bad at things.

I mean, it wasn't that I was _clumsy, _really. I just wasn't very coordinated. Carrie, on the other hand, flew around the basketball court making shot after shot. I moved around the court following the ball, but making no effort to engage. At, one point someone slammed into me so hard that it knocked the wind out of me and sent me crashing to the ground.

As soon as I regained my breath I stood up, ignoring the giant russet colored hand that was being held out to me. "Watch where you're going!" I exclaimed, angry and embarrassed.

"Sorry, Lisa," he said. "I wasn't paying attention."

"Lisa?" I asked. It dawned on me who this was as soon as the name was out of my mouth. The guy from the convenience store. Embry.

"Isn't that your name?" he questioned, confused.

"Er, no," I said, sheepishly biting my lip.

"Yeah, I didn't really have you pegged as the Lisa type."

"I guess," I replied indifferently.

"There it is again," he mumbled. "So what _is _your name?"

"Sophia."

"Sophia what?"

"Long." I suddenly felt defensive for unknown reasons.

Coach Ryan blew the whistle. "Alright, that's enough for today. Y'all can go change now."

"Catch you later, Long," Embry said before jogging off.

"Hopefully not," I whispered.

"Damn boy," Carrie said as she came up beside me. Her eyes followed Embry into the boys locker room. I gave her an exasperated look. "What? Embry Call is as hot as they come."

"Oh, come on." I lead her to the locker room. "I'm hungry. Let's go to lunch."

The day passed uneventfully after my run in with Embry. It hadn't been bad though. My classes (excluding gym) weren't to bad. I had Carrie, who I was surprisingly comfortable already. I sat with her and her friends at lunch. Most of them played soccer. They were all nice and welcoming. Even my awkward run in with Embry Call hadn't been too awful. When I arrived home from school, I was in a better mood than I had been since I had arrived in La Push.

Dad made French toast in celebration of my first day. It had been my favorite food since I was little. It was delicious.

"So did you like Carrie?"

"Yeah, I liked her a lot. She's a little obnoxious, but she's nice. Really into sports. Well, she's only into soccer, but she's good at every sport. You should see her in gym. She's fantastic. I look handicapped next to her."

Dad laughed. It was the first time I had heard him laugh in nine years. "That's great, honey! I knew you two would be friends."

"Thanks for the lunch money, by the way," I said as I rinsed my plate and stuck it in the dishwasher.

"No problem."  
Before bed, I pulled out my sketchbook and charcoal pencils and began on some rough sketches of Carrie. Something about them was off but I couldn't tell what. I put my sketchbook away and resolved to study Carrie tomorrow and fix the sketches. I popped Alteril sleeping pill and drifted off in no time.

**I just want to make this clear before someone says something: this is not an Embry/OC fic. Okay? **

**Anywho, how did you like it? Sophia's kind of a bitch, huh? BTW the story is called Unknown. That's the title. I just wanted to clear that up because I'm sure there are a few people who thought I just didn't have a title. Okay. Yep. I'll try to write more soon. I love you, my precious readers.**

**-PeanutButter12**

**P.S. If you want to review then go ahead. I promise I won't be mad at you! ;)**


	2. Chapter 2

**REALLY IMPORTANT! READ! Okay so I changed her name. I know this is kind of annoying. I din't mean for it to happen. When I first started planning out this story her name was Sophia. Then I changed it, but I was writing chapter 2 and when I read it back I realized I had started calling her Sophia again halfway through. I guess the other name didn't really stick for me. So sorry for the confusion. Thanks!**

* * *

"I really like you, Sophia," Carrie informed me as she turned the page in her copy of _Sports Illustrated. _"I'm not really sure why. You're always in a bad mood and you hardly ever talk. You haven't said five words since you got here so I don't know what the point of inviting you over was." She adjusted her position on her bed, rolling over from her back to her stomach. She looked up at me seriously as if waiting for the answer to a question.

"What?" I finally asked. Carrie groaned.

"You are so clueless. That was your cue to talk! I set you up with the perfect opportunity! You suck." After a minute or so she continued. "I'm serious about liking you, though," she said. She paused, then amended, "Not like you like I think you're hot and I want to jump you, kind of like you. I like you like I can see us being really good friends." I blushed in embarrassment.

"Carrie…"

"I kind of like how you _don't _talk. It's refreshing, you know? All my other friends are constantly going on and on about the stupidest shit. Like, I don't give a fuck, okay? I don't care that the lady that did your nails messed up or that your sister was wearing your shirt yesterday. I don't care. It's all so stupid and petty and fake. You don't talk a lot, but at least when you do it means something. You're not just talking to hear yourself talk. You're saying something important! I want to hear what you have to say. I know you won't lie and tell me you think I look cute in sweatpants and a t-shirt with four holes in it like my friends would. I'm not an idiot. You think I don't know I'm a slob?" She ranted.

"You're pretty slob-ish…" I said, half-joking, half-serious.

Carrie laughed her high-pitched, musical lauigh. "See? That's exactly what I mean. You tell it like it is."

"I've never really been one to consider other peoples feelings," I shrugged.

"That's another great thing about you," she said, waving her hand towards me. "You aren't full of yourself. Some of the girls on my soccer team… Like the other day? Emma- you remember Emma from lunch? Blond hair, tan skin, ten pounds of makeup. Yeah? You remember her? Okay, so the other day at soccer she's talking about how she got an eighty six percent on the chemistry test we took on Wednesday. She kept saying, 'I did so good and I didn't even study!' For one, bitch, an eighty six percent isn't even that good. Second of all, nobody gives a fuck what you got on that test. I don't want to hear it. Cassidy doesn't want to hear it. Or the coach. Or any of the other players. We're there to play soccer not to listen to you brag about the decent grade you got on a test. And you know what? I bet you got a better grade than she did. You didn't say a word about it, did you? You didn't shout it for the world to hear. So I thank you for not being an egotistical bitch!"

"You're welcome?"

Carrie's eyes snapped to me and she suddenly went red. "Sorry," she apologized, looking extremely embarrassed. "I don't usually rant like that. You probably think I'm crazy."

"Eh," I said, crossing off yet another failed sketch of her in my sketchbook. "I already knew you were crazy so no harm done."

She grinned.

"I like you, too, by the way." I shook my head. "You're obnoxious and you talk too much, but you're easy to be around and you don't expect a lot out of me."

"What can I say, I'm awes-" Carrie was interrupted by the low jingle of the phone ringing. She sighed and went to the kitchen to answer. I tucked my sketchbook back into my bag, then followed her. She grabbed the phone off of its cradle and jumped up onto the counter, sitting Indian style. I chose a stool across the table and sat down.

"Hello," she said. A look of mild surprise crossed her face. She glanced at me. "Hi, Mr. Long."

"My dad?" She nodded.

"Yeah, she's here. No need to worry. She didn't skip town or anything of the sort."

I scowled at her. "I left him a note on the kitchen table."

"She says that she left you a note," Carrie forwarded. "Apparently, it's on the kitchen table. Found it? Okay, good. No trouble at all, Mr. Long. I'll tell her. Thanks."

Carrie set the phone down and smirked at me.

"Have you run away before, Wild Child?"

"No," I lied flatly. I've always been a good liar. I had tons of practice when I was a kid.

Dad must of said something, though, because she didn't believe me. "Really? How come your dad said 'I thought she ran away _again_'? Huh?"

"I didn't really run away," I said reluctantly. "I was just mad so I went for a walk." She threw me a disbelieving look. "Seriously. That's how I met Embry Call," I tossed the information to her in the hope she would drop the whole 'Wild Child' subject. "You wanted to know, remember?"

"Yeah. No wonder you wouldn't tell me," she muttered. "You met him running away."

"For the last time, I wasn't-!" I stopped at the sound of the front door opening down the hall. Voices floated in. I could smell pizza.

"Finally!" Carrie hopped down from the counter. "I'm starving."

Around the corner came four people, all of whom looked incredibly like Carrie. Mr. Whethers was tall and stocky with salt and pepper hair and Carrie's green eyes. Mrs. Whethers was very petite. Other than her dark eyes, her face was almost a perfect replica of Carrie's. They had the same sharp nose, dark eyelashes, and eyes whose shape resembled that of a cat's. She had slightly tan skin and light brown just like her daughter. And behind them were-

"Twins?" I had never met identical twins before. I was immediately enthralled. They looked _exactly_ alike. Both had dark brown hair, those light green eyes of their father's, and their mother's tanned skin. I bet if they stood back to back they would be the exact same height. They were both very attractive. "That is so cool."

Twin 1 raised his eyebrows at Twin 2. "Dibs."

"She's a girl not the last piece of pizza," Carrie snapped at the twins. "Like she would ever date you anyways," she scoffed.

"Wha-?" It dawned on me then that they were talking about me. Calling _dibs _on me. My face went red and my stomach jumped. My ego was flattered, but my dignity agreed heartily with Carrie. I stared down at my owl patterned socks.

"Enough, embarrassing the guest," Mr. Whethers reprimanded, setting the pizza box down onto the table. "It's nice to finally meet you, Sophia. Your old man hasn't shut up about you for nine years." I blushed with newfound embarrassment as I shook his hand.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Whethers."

"Call me Ted," he smiled. I smiled shyly back.

"If you want, Ted."

He tipped his head to the side, a gesture Carrie often did in amusement.

Twin 1 stepped forward. He had a mischievous smirk on his face. He took my hand and brought it up to his lips. My face heated up for what felt like the hundredth time since they had walked in the door. I tried to repress a giggle from slipping out and failed miserably. His eyes lit up.

"It is so very nice to meet you, Miss Long," he said in a British accent. He bowed, still holding my hand. "My name is Finn. That douche back there," he jabbed his thumb back to where his brother was standing, "is Liam. I am by far the funnier and more attractive twin so feel free to ignore him and focus all you're attention on me."

Liam rolled his eyes in a way that clearly said _get a load of this guy._

I laughed and said in my best British accent, "Whatever you say, Mr. Whethers."

"Come on, Sophia." Carrie's voice cut in forcefully. She was holding two plates of pizza and staring at Finn crossly. He dropped my hand. "We're eating in room." She shot me a look that clearly said that she meant business then stormed down the hall.

"Well, thanks for the pizza," I said awkwardly. I hurried after Carrie.

"Do not," she said the moment I shut the door, "get involved with my brother. Either of them. Do you hear me? He will play you."

"Give me some credit, Carrie," I said, unconcerned. "I know his intentions. I'm not an idiot. And anyways, it's not like he even likes me. Don't worry about it."

"My brother- _brothers-_ will fuck anything that walks on two legs and has a heartbeat," she said, but she seemed far less worried than before. "Just don't let him in your pants, okay?"

"Carrie!"

"What?" she asked innocently, taking a bite of pizza.

Fine, bitch. Be that way.

* * *

The next day, the twins insisted on taking us out to lunch.

"You just want an excuse to talk to Sophia," Carrie accused, pointing her finger at Finn's chest.

"Yeah, pretty much. Now get in the car, would you?" Finn said, exasperated. Carrie sighed and climbed in.

"If I have to come then we are at least going to Quileute Kitchen."

"Seriously, Carrie?" Liam groaned. "Really? Quileute Kitchen _again_?"

"It's that or Sophia and I won't go," she said stubbornly. She rested her hand on the door handle and glared at Liam defiantly. "You pick. I'm fine with either option."

I caught the words "demanding gremlin" in Liam's subsequent mutter.

Quileute Kitchen was cozy little restaurant on the outskirts of La Push. It was a tiny little thing. Booths and tables were crammed into it so tightly that the chair backs at one table touched the chair backs at the next. It was cozy as can be, though; warm and friendly looking.

We took a booth in the corner- Liam and Finn across from Carrie and me.

The waitress appeared, pad and pen in hand, a black apron tied around her lean waist. She jutted her hip out to the side and surveyed us through dark eyes. Indifference and boredom rolled off her so strongly that it was almost tangible. She raised a black eyebrow at us. "Would you like something to drink?" There was a sharp, but concealed edge to her tone that most people would have missed. Not me, though. Her voice had the same sarcastic, biting quality about it that mine had adopted in the past few months. I wondered what could have turned her bitter like I had. I banished the thought from my mind. It would only lead back to my mother. I didn't want to go down that road. Especially not right now.

"Do you have cherry coke?" Carrie inquired.

"We have coke and cherry grenadine. Do you want that?" the waitress asked without any interest. Her voice was deadpanned.

"Yeah, sure. Thanks." The waitress rolled her eyes and pushed her bluntly cut, chin length hair out of her face impatiently.

"Alright, then," she scribbled it down on her pad. "What do you want, Thing 1?"

"Just a sprite," Liam ordered with a small smile. Obviously, he hadn't noticed the mockery behind the name. Unsurprisingly, Finn asked for the same as his twin.

"How 'bout you, Blondie?" She pursed her lips and stared and me through narrowed eyes

My nostrils flared at the nickname. _Bitch. _The meanness that often possessed me flared up. I tipped my face up, tilted my head to the side, and smiled softly. "I'll take a diet coke if that's not too much trouble for you, sweetheart?" I made sure to form it like a question. Her eyes became thin brown slits. She whirled around and stalked off without another word. I was left with a feeling of dull satisfaction. _Call me Blondie again, tramp, and I'll have your head._

Carrie put her head in her hands dramatically. "What the hell is wrong with you, Sophia?" she mock sighed. Finn and Liam laughed. I forced a chuckle, but Carrie's words had hit home. Something in me clicked; pulled me abruptly back to reality. My stomach heaved and I felt suddenly light headed.

"I-I think… I- I'm going to the bathroom." I stood up and my vision spun.

"Are you okay? You're really pale," Carrie said, sounding worried.

"I'm- I'm fine. I just feel really sick all of a sudden."

"Oh. Do you want me to come with you?" Nervousness laced her voice. I could tell she wanted me to refuse. Clearly, dealing with the sick wasn't her forte. I didn't hold it against her.

"No, no," I said faintly. "It's okay. I'll be right back."

Carrie look relieved, but Finn and Liam's eyebrows knit together in identical confusion and mild concern.

The bathroom was cooler than the stuffy restaurant. The cold temperature helped slightly. I wet a strip of paper towel and pressed it to my clammy forehead. I clenched my eyes shut in an effort to stop the swooping of my vision and sank down to the ground, pressing my back up against the cool tile wall.

It was several minutes before the nausea had passed and I was strong enough to stand. All I wanted was to be back in my room, curled up in my bed, pretending I was someone else. I walked slowly, stiffly back to the table. All three of them looked up at me when I stopped in front of the booth. My coke was sitting on the table.

"I need to go home." My voice came out shaky and barely audible. "I don't feel well."

Finn stood up. "I'll take you. Carrie, Liam, you guys stay and eat."

"Are you sure?" Liam said uncertainly, half standing.

"Yeah, I'll be back in a sec. Okay? Don't worry Carrie," Finn chided for Carrie had made to protest. "I will make sure she gets home safe."

"Okay, then…" Carrie agreed reluctantly. "She lives right down the street from First Beach. On Ottawa."

"Bye guys," I croaked. "Thanks for inviting me and give your parents my thanks for having me, will you?"

"Of course," said Carrie, promptly.

"Feel better, Sophia," Liam said kindly.

"I will…"

Finn picked up my coke and handed it to me. "Drink this," he advised. "It will help." He started to lead me out of the restaurant.

"I can't take the cup," I reminded him, but gulping down the coke all the same. The icy liquid felt good on my parched tongue.

"I'll bring it back," he said, unconcerned. I was to exhausted and weak to care.

* * *

"The white house with the black shutters," I told Finn, pointing to the correct house. He pulled into the driveway.

"You sure you're okay?" he asked.

I nodded. The dizziness and nausea were gone, but the feelings that had caused them still clogged my chest. Would clog my chest for the rest of my life.

"Take it easy, will you? Hopefully, you'll be able to go to school tomorrow."

I nodded again. "Thank you for the ride, Finn, I appreciate it. And the coke," I added, giving him back my empty glass.

"Anytime Sophia."

I reached over and grabbed his hand and gave it a small squeeze. I climbed out of the car, snatching my overnight bag from the backseat.

The house was empty. According to the note on the counter, Dad was out fishing with Billy Black- whoever that was- and wouldn't be home until late. He'd made spaghetti and it was waiting for me in the fridge. I didn't even open the fridge to look for it. All I'd eaten that day was a bowl of cereal, but I was not remotely hungry.

I went straight up to my room and sat on my bed, my bag still slung over my shoulder. Mechanically, I pulled my sketchbook out of my bag and flipped through it until I found my favorite sketch I had ever drawn.

The lines were scratchy and sloppy, done no doubt with the first pencil I could find. The features of the woman in the picture were slightly disproportioned and off center. Her hair hung too straight and unmoving. It was a sketch chockfull of flaws, but I loved it. It was the only one of my drawing that I truly liked and I had only recently taken to it.

I loved the sketch because it captured my mother perfectly. Not in the sense of her external beauty, but her internal vibrancy. Her personality shined off the paper. Her eyes sparkled mischievously. Her lips curled up into an ironic smile. Her chin was turned up in stubborn pride.

I missed her.

I missed her vanilla smell. I missed her silky brown hair. I missed her odd, snorty laugh and her forceful personality. I missed her quick temper. I missed her passionate love. I missed everything about her. I wanted her back.

I snapped my sketchbook shut and let it slip through my fingers to the ground. Tears pooled in my eyes but I blinked and willed them not to spill down my face. Tears are for the weak, and I am not weak.

What I wanted right now, more than anything, was to run away. To get away from the memories of my mother. I would dye my hair black and cut it to my chin. My new name would be Lillian Green. I would bleach my brain. Clean it free of my past life and never think about it twice.

My mother would have done it, had she been in my situation. I wasn't that rash, though. I had some of my father's reason in me. Or maybe I wasn't as willing to just drop everything and go as I thought. To settle the war in my brain, I hunted through my desk drawer for a notebook and a pen. I slashed a line down the middle of the paper with the blue pen I found. I labeled one column _Good things about La Push, _and the other _Bad things about La Push._

I started with the easy things; the things that sprang to mind immediately and then worked up to the harder things. I glared down at the messily written list.

_Good things about La Push:_

_-Carrie_

_-Finn and Liam_

_-First Beach _

_-Dad_

_Bad things about La Push:_

_-Rain_

_-Dad_

_-Memories of Mom_

_-Dropping grades_

_-No money_

The bad things clearly outweighed the good ones. The memories of my childhood alone were worth leaving. I couldn't bear the slip of my grades that had occurred in wake of my mother's death. Between my grades and the loss of my waitressing job in Atlanta (which funded my future college) there was no way I was ever getting into Harvard.

But if these "bad things" were so bad, then why did I hesitate? Why, when faced with the prospect of actually running away did I falter? Was I coward for staying? Or would I be a coward for leaving? I didn't know. Whatever the reason may be I was staying. Staying in La Push. Staying miserable. Loitering in Memory Lane.

Mom had raised me to make the best of every situation and so that's what I would do. I would turn those bad things into good ones.

I flipped to clean sheet of paper and started my game plan.

_Things to do:_

_-Fix Carrie sketch_

_-Bring grades up_

_-Find job_

_-Be nicer to Dad_

_-Feel better _

_Deadline (two weeks_)

I ripped the sheet out and tucked it into my jeans. The first three shouldn't be too hard. It would take some effort, but I could manage to be civil to my father. I was worried about the last one. Feeling better would be near impossible. To be happy again I would need to come to terms with my mother's death. I was pretty sure I was going to die just as devastated about her passing as I was now.

I had had enough deep thinking for one Sunday. I dragged my schoolbag over to my bed and pulled out all my materials, burying myself in the mindlessness of algebra. It felt good to be productive. Tomorrow, I would ask my teachers for extra credit and after school I would hunt down a job. I would get in to Harvard and I would pay my own way.

I started my attempt to be a better daughter with the spaghetti Dad had cooked for me. I still had no appetite, but I figured it would make him feel good if he knew U had eaten his food. I dumped half of it onto a plate and stored the rest back into the fridge. I stared out the window as I ate.

The spaghetti was delicious.

* * *

**I didn't really like this chapter very much. I kind of just want to get to the part where Seth comes in. Sorry it sucked. On the bright side, I think he's going to be in the next chapter! **

**You get a little bit of background about Sophia's mom. There is more about that to come. So...yep.**

**Do you think Finn likes Sophia or just wants to get into her pants? Review and tell me.**

**Did you know who the waitress was? I tried to give a little bit of clues...**

**Special thank to those three beauts who reviewed. I seriously love you guys! So I guess this chapter is dedicated to I-Just-Love-Pringles97, Shaqueena, and piggielover98! **

**Yeah, yeah. Bye.**

**-PeanutButter12**


	3. Chapter 3

None of my stupid ass teachers would give me extra credit (well, I don't know about Mr. Barth yet because he had a sub today so I didn't get to ask). My English teacher, Ms. Porgowski even went so far as to announce, loud enough for the whole class to hear, that just because I was a "slacker who doesn't care about her education" doesn't mean she'll hand out free points to me. I have to "actually try to obtain some of the knowledge she shares with me" or I am going to remain "a mediocre student". Mediocre student. That's what really got to me.

That fucking self-righteous bitch.

My insides burned and I felt like I could spit acid, I was so furious. Who the hell did she think she was? Mediocre… I'd show that bitch mediocre.

I took my seat (assigned, of course) next to the curly black haired kid whose name I couldn't remember. It was M something. Something like- but not- Mark.

He glanced over at me, taking in my enraged expression. "What's Porgowski got stuck up her ass, eh?"

I could see he was sympathetic of my situation and was trying to be nice, but I was still angry enough to disregard his comment without guilt. He wouldn't be ignored, though.

"Sorry about her," he continued. "She's a shitty teacher."

"You're not kidding," I muttered irately.

"I'm Lucas by the way." He was staring at me out of the corner of his eye.

So I was wrong about the M.

I decided to ignore him again. He was getting on my already short temper. I didn't want to talk to this kid.

"Isn't it your turn to tell me your name?"

"Why would I do that?" I said, trying to get him to shut up. "You already know my name." I didn't look at him. I looked straight ahead at the dry erase board.

Lucas nodded. "Yeah, I suppose I do. You're the new girl." He accented this statement with jazz hands.

When the bell rang, signaling the end of the day, Lucas followed me out of class and walked me to my locker (much to my discomfort and annoyance). He spoke as I was shoving my textbooks into my backpack.

"So… homecoming is this Saturday. Are you going?" He spoke cautiously.

"I don't know. Depends," I said distractedly, trying to decide whether or not I needed my history book. I sighed and crammed it into my already too full bag. Better to have it and not need it than to need it and not have it.

"Depends on what?"

"Whether or not my friend makes me go," I shrugged, zipping my bag closed. I turned to face him. "Why?"

He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "Well, I was wondering if- if you would maybe…"

I realized, horrorstruck that he was trying to ask me out to the dance. "What? No! I mean, no, Lucas. Sorry." My face was beat red. Was this kid serious? I didn't even know his name until about fifteen minutes ago!

"So you can't help the homecoming committee?"

"The home-? Wait, what?"

"I was going to ask you if you could help the homecoming committee. We're running low on volunteers." His eyes jumped from my face to the ground.

My cheeks colored even darker in embarrassment at my stupid presumption. "Oh, no I can't. I've got a ton on my plate right now, Lucas. Sorry."

"That's fine. No problem. See you around," he said quickly before rushing off. I shut my locker and turned around to find Carrie standing right in front of me, arms crossed. I jumped.

"Lucas Tibult, huh? You two got a thing going on?" She was smirking at me.

"No," I rolled my eyes at her. "I've spoken about three words to him before."

"Really?" she asked skeptically. "Then why was he asking you out?"

I rolled my eyes again. "He wasn't. The homecoming committee needed help."

Carrie snorted. "Ha, suuuure they do," she said, taking my arm and dragging me back to the car. The logical part of my brain knew she was right, but my self consciousness would not hear it. I resolved to avoid Lucas and cast the issue out of my mind.

"Speaking of homecoming," Carrie said, revving the ignition, "We are going to Port Angeles on Wednesday to find dresses."

"That's a school night Carrie," I shook my head in disapproval. "I don't even want to go to homecoming anyways."

"Oh, come on, Sophia! It's fun. I promise you," she said earnestly, then continued in a measured voice, "And anyways, I think Finn is going to ask you to go with him." She glanced sidelong at me.

My face felt warm. My voice came out strangely and surprised. "Is he?"

"Damn," she looked over at me again. "You like him don't you."

"He's cute," I admitted. "I wouldn't say I _like _him, though."

"But if he asks you, you will say yes." It wasn't a question.

I shrugged. "Probably."

She leaned over and punched my arm. "You suck," she said, then added, "Just remember, do not let him in your pants."

I groaned.

* * *

I had my first job interview that night at Quileute Kitchen. I picked it for a number of reasons- number one being it was close enough that I could walk there. It was small so I didn't have to worry about running back and forth between tables because it was so overly packed as was often at the National Coney Island I worked at in Georgia. I also liked the relaxed atmosphere. It would be quiet enough that I could run through flashcards on slow nights when I wasn't needed.

Lucky for me, it went well.

"Why do you think you would be a good waitress here?" the manager inquired.

I paused weighing the pros and cons of the telling it to him straight versus sugarcoating it. I knew I should tell him what he's looking to hear if I want this job, but my natural instinct to be blunt won out. It always does.

"I'm good at it." I said simply. "I worked as a waitress in Georgia so I have plenty of experience. I've become very adept at handling assholes with a smile."

Mr. Corwell tipped his head to the side and raised his eyebrows in surprise most likely at my cussing.

"Excuse my language," I tacked on. He waved his hand dismissively.

"No, no," he smiled. "I quite like having tough waitresses working the dining area. Keeps the rowdy customers in their place." He winked.

"I noticed. That one waitress you got here- short black hair; tall- she's something else." I smiled ruefully.

"Leah?" Corwell chuckled. "Oh yeah, Leah can be a handful sometimes."

"I don't doubt that," I replied, thinking back to her biting tone and mockery of my out of place blond curls.

"She's a good kid, though. Just a little hostile sometimes." He tapped his hand on the desk between us and continued, "Back to the point-" he pulled a black bundle of cloth from one of several cardboard boxes behind his desk and handed it to me, "-you're hired."

"Thank you so much, Mr. Corwell." I beamed and grabbed what I now recognized as an apron from him.

"Your first shift is tomorrow at six, all right?"

"I'll be there."

* * *

I swear, Student Council must have sat down and asked themselves: 'What is the most embarrassing way students will pay for to ask their homecoming dates out?' You know what they came up with? Proposals sung to the invitees by choir members clad in fancy suits and sparkling dresses in front of their whole sixth period. I'd very much like to knife the person who thought up this idea.

You know, I would have been fine to watch these horrific, cheesy singing invitation. I would've sat by and watched the awkward scene unfold with dull embarrassment for the person on the receiving end and annoyance at the idiot who sent it. But nooooo. Life hates me too much to give me a free pass.

I sat with clenched fists through the ridiculous song I had already heard three times today- the only exception being Sophia Long and Finn Whethers replaced the names of previous couples. When, the Goth girl in the ridiculous, hot pink, ball gown-looking dress sang out Finn's name, all of the girls in the room stared at my red face in shock. The class clapped at the end. I didn't, though. I was fucking furious.

It was the end of the day, so when I stalked up to my locker Carrie was waiting for me.

And so was Finn.

"I told you she wouldn't like it," Carrie singsonged, taking in my angry expression and my blush.

Finn ignored her and smirked at me. "What did you think of my invitation?"

I punched my fist into his gut. "That's what I thought of it, you moron!" I hissed. He bent double.

I tried to open my locker, but my fingers were shaking so hard in my embarrassment that I fumbled the dial twice. Carrie giggled and pushed my hands aside.

"What's your combo?"

"32, 27, 17," I sighed.

"Should I take that punch to the stomach as a no, then?" Finn asked, grinning again now that he had recovered.

I glared at him and stuck my lip out before admitting grudgingly, "No, I suppose not."

"That's a yes? You want to go to the dance with me?" The idiot was smirking.

"Significantly less after that stunt you just pulled…but yes."

He scooped his finger under my chin and I batted his hand away. "Wear something hot."

"You're a pig," Carrie muttered disgustedly.

"Liam's waiting for me. I'll catch you later, Sophia." He winked one green eye at me and then strolled off.

* * *

I was still striving to make amends with my dad. It was hard, though. I was still angry. Nine years of no contact, not a single letter, not even a card on my birthday. That's a hard thing to forgive.

To be fair, though, he was trying. He made me dinner; even on the nights I claimed not to be hungry I could always count on a plate of saran wrapped food to be sitting on the top shelf of the fridge for when I _was_ hungry at three in the morning. He left stacks of books on my desk, dog eared and marked with penciled in notes on his thoughts. I devoured these books in days, adding my own little ideas (a quirk I had inherited from him) and then stashed them on my overflowing bookshelf. Being a lifelong insomniac like my mother, I was always up way later than was healthy. When, I was a kid, Dad used to lecture me about the importance of sleep and insist I lie down and try to fall asleep. It became habit after a while to pretend to sleep until he went to bed so I could avoid his chastisement. I began to put this little trick to practice again and every night as I lay motionless in my bed, Dad would open the door to check if I was sleeping. "I love you Sophia," he would whisper and then head to his bedroom down the hall.

I wanted to do something nice for him to show that I was making an effort too. The perfect idea struck me not to long before I had to leave for my first shift so I had to rush. Consequently, it didn't turn out quite how I planned.

I tried to make Dad's famous double chocolate cookies that we used to always to bake together when I was little. After, we would take them to the local soup kitchen or the nursing home a couple of blocks down the road.

Unfortunately, the cookies were nothing like the ones Dad made. Burned black on the bottom and revoltingly crunchy. Ew. I put the plate of cookies on the counter and scribbled a note on the back of an index card for him when he got home.

_I tried to make you some cookies… I might have left them in too long. I think it's time for a review cooking lesson, huh, Dad? Please don't eat them. Ha ha ha. But seriously, don't. _

_-Sophia_

Around twenty to six, I slid into the pair of black jeans and warm black thermal that I had carefully picked out to meet the dress requirements for the wait staff as stated in the employee handbook. I tied the little pocket belt Corwell gave me around my waist and pulled my hair back into a messy ponytail. A loose curl fell into my eyes.

As it turned out, the girl who waited on the twins, Carrie, and I- what did Corwell call her? Leah?- was the one who was supposed to train me. There was less training than glaring and pointing, which was fine with me. I already knew the basics; I just was unacquainted with the layout of the kitchen and dining area.

After an hour of "training", Leah slapped a pad of paper onto the counter and pushed it towards me.

"This is what you write the orders down on," she informed me. A nasty smirk crept across her face. "You know," she said softly, "if that's not too much trouble for you, sweetheart?"

I hadn't realized that she remembered me. But of course she did. My blond hair and pale skin stuck out like a sore thumb in this town where ninety percent of the population looked like descendants of Sacagawea. Obviously, though, it wasn't just my out of place looks that she recognized. She had remembered the way I snubbed her and had thrown my insult back in my face word for word. Impressive.

"Any questions?" she asked in a way that clearly discouraged questions.

"I need a pen. And straws."

She gave a sour look before ducking behind the counter and retrieving two pens and a handful of straws. "If you need more, there's some on the bottom shelf back here. In the box that says 'straws'. Got it, Blondie?"

My teeth gnashed together. "My name is Sophia," I hissed.

She pushed her hair back and looked me in the eye. "Yeah, whatever." She nodded towards the door where a family of five had just walked in. "Those are your first customers. Get on it."

"Alright," I sighed and started towards the table they had chosen. Leah's voice stopped me.

"And Blondie?"

I turned back around to face her. She was five feet away.

"I don't like you-"

I raised my eyebrows. "Obviously."

She scowled, but otherwise ignored my comment; continuing on as if there was no interruption.

"Stay out of my way. I'm here for my checks, _not,_" she said dangerously, "to babysit you." With that, she stalked over to the family I was supposed to be waiting on.

_Well then. _

Dress shopping was a nightmare.

I've never minded shopping much. A lot of times it can even be fun. It's when it drags on for hours and hours on end that I really hate it.

Upon Carrie's insistence, we had ditched our sixth hours ("Oh, come on, Sophia! There's a sub in Porgowski's class today! Please, Sophia? I really don't want to take my math test."). We took her car and drove the long drive to Port Angeles. For two and a half hours we tried on dress after dress. There were a lot of 'okay's, some 'maybe's, and too many "hell no!'s to count. I was exhausted and bored out of my mind. All I wanted was to go home.

Carrie wasn't exactly helping the process either. Whining on and on about how much she despised shopping. Her hatred didn't surprise me, but it sure as hell annoyed me seeing as she was the one who dragged _me _here, not the other way around.

"Quit your bitching, Carrie!" I hissed, cutting her off mid-complaint. "You're starting to piss me off."

"Alright! Alright! I'm sorry," she said quickly. She pulled at the hem of the dress she was trying on. It was bright orange with a halter top and frilly red flowers at the neckline and the waist.

"That's the worst one yet," I commented. She made a face at herself in the mirror.

"It really is hideous, isn't it?" she giggled, then sighed. "I give up. I'm asking the sales lady for help."

She marched over to a pretty black woman in a Mona's Dress Boutique blazer and tapped her on the shoulder. The woman turned around and smiled at Carrie.

"Can I help you, Miss?"

"Er, yeah. Me and my friend are having a hard time finding dresses. Could you-?"

The woman nodded sympathetically. "Most certainly."

Carrie led the woman back over to where I was sitting. She had Carrie and I stand up and face her. She then stood back, two fingers pressed against her lips thoughtfully, and looked at us. I mean _really _looked at us. Like stared at our hips, our legs, our faces, and our breasts long enough that I felt self conscious and extremely uncomfortable, kind of looked at us. Carrie slouched down and picked at her nails, perfectly at ease while I stood ramrod straight, my arms crossed firmly across my chest. Finally, her eyes lifted back to our faces and she said, "I think I have an idea."

She moved to a rack a couple paces to her left and pushed the dresses on it around for a minute before exclaiming, "Aha!"

She pulled out a spaghetti strapped, mint green dress patterned with deep emerald flowers and walked it over to us. It was impossible not to admire the sales lady as she held the dress up against Carrie's body and I realized that the dress was precisely the same shade as the her eyes.

"You're good," I said with a nod of my head.

"Thank you," she replied, eyes sparkling. She tilted her head towards the fitting rooms. "Go try that on while I find one for your friend."

Obediently, Carrie picked her way across the store and disappeared into a stall. Immediately, the woman turned around and started to hunt through the dresses again.

"I have a dress in mind for you," she said quietly, pushing aside dress after dress. "I just don't know wh- found it!" she said suddenly. She pulled out a dress and hooked the hanger onto my arm, then nudged me towards the changing rooms.

I find Mona's Dress Boutique to be sadly under par in that they do not have mirrors in their fitting rooms. To see yourself in the mirror you have to leave the safety of the stall where you can marvel in your own grotesqueness in privacy and use the triple angled mirror that sits across from the changing rooms. That way the whole store can view you and your embarrassment as you realize how utterly ridiculous you look in your puffy, bejewled, cotton candy pink dress as I did earlier.

Even alone in the dressing room I felt overly self aware in the dress the woman had given me. I touched my bare shoulders- no straps, of course. I could feel it brushing my cold skin slightly above my knees. I wanted to see what it looked like, but I wasn't particularly inclined to leave the safety of the stall. If this dress didn't work, then I was done. I would just call Finn and cancel; tell him I wasn't going. It's not like I really wanted to anyways.

Unhurriedly, I unlatched the lock on the door and pushed it open. Carrie was adjusting the straps of her dress in the mirror. She caught sight of my reflection and whirled around. Her eyes widened a bit at the sight of me.

"What? What?" I said, rushing forward to see my reflection. Carrie moved out of the way so I could get a full view.

The dress was beautiful. Elegant. Deep red and flowy with a sweetheart neckline. The blue straps of my bra kind of ruined the image though.

Carrie came up behind me. "Damn, Sophia." She shook her head, smiling. She glanced down at my straps. "You know you aren't supposed to wear your bra with the dress right?" She said, pulling my strap up and letting it snap back down. Ouch.

I shrugged, still staring at my dress. Slowly, I twirled around. The skirt flared out around me. "I look…" I hesitated, trying to find the right word for it.

"Fantastic?" Carrie put in.

I came to a halt and shook my head. "…Slutty."

_"What?"_ She stared at me incredulously.

The bright red against my pale, pale skin and light blonde hair was a shocking contrast. My dark blue eyes looked somehow darker and the small freckles on my nose stood out more noticeably than usual. Like my eyes the purple circles ringing my eyes seemed to be a darker shade than they were the last time I looked in the mirror.

"It's the contrast…it's a bit…" Overwhelming?

"Gorgeous," the sales woman put in 'helpfully'.

"Seriously, Sophia. You are getting this dress. It looks amazing." Carrie glanced at me mischievously. "And I'm sure Finn will like it."

I rolled my eyes at her blatant attempt to sway me. Glancing back down at the dress, I tried to weigh the pros and cons. Honestly, though, I'd probably wear a paper sack if it meant we were done shopping. And anyways, I had work in an hour and the drive was long…

"Fine," I gave in. "I'll get the goddamned dress."

Carrie squealed.

"You're late," was Leah's greeting the minute I walked through the door.

"By one a minute and," I checked my watch, "thirteen seconds," I sighed in annoyance. I swear, Carrie and I had hit every red light. Or at least it had seemed that way.

"Late is late." I could tell Leah was thoroughly enjoying this.

"Oh, really?" I said in mock-surprise. "I've always thought that late meant early. How weird!"

Obviously, shopping had put me in a bad fucking mood.

"You listen to me, little girl-!" Leah fired up at once.

"I don't have time for this shit, Leah. I came here to work- same as you."

She shot me a glare so fierce it could have curdled milk and then stormed away.

I turned and watched a petite, russet skinned girl come through the door. She took the slightly reclusive booth in the corner and peeked around the restaurant nervously, as if she thought someone was going to tell her she had to move. She carefully pulled a textbook from her bag and set it on the table. I strode over to her table as she began to rummage through her backpack again.

"Hello, my name is Sophia. I will be your server tonight." The girl started at my voice and looked around at me. "Can I start you off with a drink or do you know what you want?"

"Just- just a coffee, please," she ordered timidly. I scrawled it onto my pad.

"Cream and sugar?"

"Just sugar," the girl said, fiddling with worn corners of her book.

"Coming right up."

Carrying her coffee back to her, I could tell immediately that the girl was frustrated. She had papers spread across the whole table, her textbook propped open, and seven uncapped highlighters in an assortment of colors. I spied the tiny open square of table she had left for me to leave her coffee and put it down. She didn't even notice, engrossed in a paper.

I read "FIX!" scribbled at the top of the paper in red ink. Directly to the left of that was a large 4/21. Yikes.

She blew out an irritable breath and leaned back. She closed her eyes, tapping an orange mechanical pencil to her temple.

"You're doing the distributive property wrong," I informed her, looking over her paper quickly.

Her eyes flew open. She blinked at me once. Twice. Three times. She studied her paper for another minute and then asked unsurely for my assistance.

"Here," I said, picking up her pencil. "You started to do it right. You multiplied these two and got 21x which is correct. Then, you stopped for some reason."

Her eyebrows pushed together. "I thought that was all I had to do. I'm wrong?"

"Yes. You have to multiply these ones now, you see?"

"I-I think," she hesitated.

I noticed a group of boys taking a seat across the room. "Alright, then. If you need help or more coffee flag me down."

"Okay, thank you."

"Sure thing."

I made my way across the room towards the boys. There were three of them. All tall and muscular and russet skinned. I dug around in my apron for a pen as I approached their table.

"Good evening," I said, still searching for a pen. "My name is S-"

"Sophia Long!" a familiar voice exclaimed. My eyes shot up.

"This is the girl I was telling you guys about," Embry Call was saying excitedly. "The one who liked our little wolves."

But I was paying him no attention, for the second I had glanced up my eyes had met a pair of warm brown ones. I tried to pull out of his gaze, but I couldn't. I was trapped in his stare. A small, startled gasp slipped out. Now I could feel Embry and the other boy's eyes on me.

"Sophia?" Embry said, confused. And then, "_Seth?"_ in a thoroughly shocked and slightly fearful voice.

The boy- Seth- didn't answer; didn't even so much as glance at Embry. Instead, he halfway stood up, his eyes still hooked on mine.

"Seth? What's going on, Jacob?" asked Leah's puzzled and annoyed voice behind me.

It was as if someone had clapped their hands in front of my face. I snapped out of the trance and stumbled backwards right into Leah, falling to the floor. The tray on which she carried four ice waters tipped, dumping over my head and all down my back. Though she didn't get it nearly as bad I did, Leah's whole front was wet. However, she didn't seem to care at the moment.

She strode past me to the boys. "Seth?" Fear laced her voice. "What's wrong with him?" she inquired sharply.

"I-I think," Embry answered her slightly breathlessly, "I think he's just imprinted."

As if in slow motion, Leah turned. She looked down at me where I sat on the floor in sopping black clothes and a pool of water, her eyes wide, mouth agape in utter disbelief and horror.

**Yeah, I'm a fail at life… I know it took me a while to update. I apologize. I'm really bad at starting stories, but hopefully now that Seth is in the picture the chapters will be done sooner and more interesting. Oh, I forgot to mention this earlier, but when I write this, I type it in book format, you know? But for some reason it won't let you indent on here and puts huge spaces between your paragraphs. So if my formatting is weird that's why. Yeah…**

**Penny for your thoughts/reviews?**

**Yep. That's it. I'm done. **

**-PeanutButter12**


	4. Chapter 4

"It was _weird_, Carrie," I explained, keeping my voice low for some reason. It was crowded in the lunchroom; loud. We were even seated two seats away from Carrie's normal crowd yet I was still whispering. "The way he looked at me- it was like I was his long lost identical twin that he never knew he had."

"Do you think he likes you?" she asked, grinning slyly. This irritated me.

"I'm serious!" I snapped at her, frustrated. She mock pouted, clearly unaffected. I gasped.

"What?" Carrie said, arching one eyebrow.

I shook my head and touched a finger to my lips. My eyes locked on Carrie's fake pout. A smile turned up the corners of my mouth. I had just found the flaw in my sketch of Carrie. Finally.

"You're annoying," Carrie declared decidedly. I laughed. "Back to your story?"

"Oh, yeah." My smile vanished as I recounted the previous night's events. "Leah- you know, the bitchy waitress I was telling about?- comes walking up behind me and starts talking to them. It startled me and I tripped and fell into her. Knocking several glasses of water onto me, I might add."

"Really?" she giggled, looking eager. "What happened next?"

"Leah just walked past me, still talking to the boys. I think one of them said something about printing-"

"Printing?"

"Yeah, something like that. Then, she turned around and looked at me like I was some weird creature that she was simultaneously afraid of and disgusted with. And then I got up and I ran home."

"You _ran home?_"

I shrugged. "It's not far," I replied quietly.

Slowly, she shook her head at me. "You're unbelievab-"

"-ly hot?" Finn finished incorrectly, strolling over and sitting in the chair beside mine. Liam, close behind him, settled in next to Carrie.

Abruptly, I felt incredibly self-conscious. I straightened the edge of my crooked sweater. My cheeks heated up as I pulled on a loose thread on the cuff, determinedly not looking at him.

"Sophia?" I knew he was smirking. He could see the shy blush coloring my cheeks.

"Yes?" I hissed, angry at myself for acting this way. I rearranged the food on my lunch tray.

"Look at me."

"How about a please, asshole?" I did look- well, _scowled_, more like actually- at him, though. He _was _smirking. Idiot.

As our eyes met, he suddenly grabbed my chin and pressed his lips to mine. My eyes snapped shut automatically, but other than that I didn't move. I was too surprised. Too embarrassed. A little bit annoyed.

I mean, did I _look_ like I wanted to be kissed?

Since my mother's death- and even before, if I was honest- I shied away from any form of physical contact. Mostly I tried not to show it. I didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings. It made me uncomfortable, though. I didn't like hugs or hand holding. Mom's funereal…nearly unendurable. People squeezing me so tight I couldn't breathe. As if that could possibly make it better.

Someone behind me cleared their throat awkwardly. I quickly pulled my unmoving lips away from Finn's, still in shock and very glad for the excuse to, and swiveled around, expecting to see Carrie's impatient, disgusted face. It was not, however, Carrie who cleared her throat.

It was Embry Call.

I felt my stomach drop to my knees. He stood there with his big hand shoved deep into his pockets looking distinctly uncomfortable. He gave me a half smile.

"Hey Long. Do you think I could talk to you?" he asked, his dark eyes boring into my blue ones.

He could only want to talk about one thing. Last night.

On one hand, I was afraid. I didn't want to talk to him. That night had seriously shaken me. The feeling I had felt when I looked into those brown eyes… it was like someone had taken defibrillator paddles to my chest. And later, at home, I had the strangest sensation as if there was a rope tied around my waist. It wasn't pulling me. It wasn't uncomfortable. But it was there. The other end was tied to something, somewhere. I didn't know what, but I was sure I could follow that invisible rope and it would lead me there.

On the other hand, I was impossibly curious. _What had happened?_ Was it a joke? A prank on me set up by Leah as revenge? Who was the boy? Why was he looking at me strange? Was it because of my strange, out of place looks? That seemed unlikely. I couldn't possibly look _that_ weird to deserve a reaction like that. Or could I? There was only one way to find out…

"Sure, Embry. Just give me a minute." I dumped my lunch into the trash and then stacked the tray neatly on the pile of other dirty ones. I walked back to the table and picked up my bag. "See you later," I nodded at them.

Finn looked disgruntled.

Carrie gave me a 'tell me everything later' look.

Liam was checking out Savannah Walsh's ass as she walked by our table. That one earned an eye roll from me.

Embry and I set off across the cafeteria silently. When were safely outside, he stopped and faced me. I was struck again by how incredibly tall he was. He positively _towered_ over me. He had me by a foot at least.

"You work at Quileute Kitchen?" was the first thing he said.

"Yes." Obviously.

"Are you working tonight?"

"Yes," I replied, my brow creasing in confusion. He didn't elaborate further on the topic of my work schedule.

"Can I have your phone number?"

I was taken aback. "You're not going to ask me out, are you?" I asked suspiciously, but typing it into the phone he handed to me as I spoke anyways.

"Ha!" he snorted so loudly I jumped. "Not if I value my life!"

"Okay," I muttered, not particularly surprised, but very confused. Why did he need my number then?

"Thanks." He turned to walk away.

"No, wait!" I protested. "What do you need my number for?"

He didn't turn around when he answered, "A friend."

"Seriously? That's it?" I called incredulously to his retreating back. He shrugged and kept walking. "Why'd we have to come out her just so you could ask that?"

He didn't turn around even though I knew he could hear me.

"I wasn't done eating!" Jerk.

* * *

I spent the rest of the day fuming over Embry Call's odd questions. Occasionally, it alternated with reflection of the cringe worthy kiss Finn sprung on me during lunch.

When Mr. Preslow called on me in History, I was so distracted that I hadn't even heard what he asked me. Fortunately, he wasn't sadistic. After five seconds of open-mouthed incomprehension he took pity on me and gave me the answer. I faked a look of understanding and nodded like I knew what he was talking about. Immediately after, I slumped back into my puzzled thoughts.

_"What do you need my number for?"_

_"A friend."_

What friend? What friend? What friend? My brain cam back to the same question over and over again. The epiphany finally struck me as I jammed my house key into old brass lock on the front door. It was so obvious that ashamed of myself for not realizing it sooner.

_Jesus, Sophia, could you get any stupider?, _I mentally kicked myself.

Of _course_ I knew who the friend was.

Which friend connected me, Embry Call, and Quileute Kitchen? There were two there with Embry last night. That narrowed it down. It wasn't hard to guess which one of them was the friend that Embry was referring to. I hadn't looked at one of them even a single time. That meant it had to be Brown Eyes.

It also occurred to me then that there could be only one reason why Embry wanted to know about my work schedule: he wanted to know where he could find me, where he could corner me. Or, more likely, where his _friend_ could corner me.

Brown Eyes was going to be at Quileute Kitchen tonight.

My hand froze in the process of unlocking the door. In that moment, I'm embarrassed to say I was weak enough to truly considered ditching work.

I was shocked back to reality when the lock clicked and the door swung open. Dad held it open for me.

"Having trouble with the lock, hon?" He smiled in amusement. Not condescending amusement like most people. Dad wasn't like that. Infallibly kind. Too sweet. Too sensitive. Completely different from Mom.

I could have told you right off that my parents weren't a good fit for each other. Polar opposites, those two. My mother was bold and outright. Mischievous. Passionate about everything she did. Braver than anyone I ever knew. Had a temper like an atomic bomb. Loved with every fiber of her being.

My dad was different. Far, far more reserved than Mom. He was the kind of person who lied to spare feelings, whose heart broke over dead birds, who spent more time living other's lives through books than living his own. He was a man who wore his heart on his sleeve, who took shit from other people, who took shit from my mother. Oh, _especially _from her.

She loved him so much. Too much, she always used to tell me when I asked why they had split. She loved him so much that it hurt.

She was bad for him. She hurt him. It was against her instinct to hold back her opinion, her criticism, and he wasn't tough enough to take her brutal honesty. Dad took everything to heart. He let every little remark upset him.

Mom knew what she was doing to him. His pain was her pain. She loved him too much.

Dad wasn't blameless. He was weak. He couldn't man up. He valued her opinion so highly above anyone else's. I think that's what killed him- being constantly degraded by the person he loved more than anyone in the world.

To escape his pain, he hid himself in books. He distanced himself from her. This hurt her just as much as she hurt him.

They were bad for each other. Polar opposites.

So she left. I know he begged her to stay- begged _us _to stay. He insisted he'd change for her.

That's exactly why she was leaving. Because she would change him if she didn't. He would lose his sensitivity. He would lose the reason she fell in love with him in the first place. No, she loved him too much to let that happen.

He never got over her. I could tell by the wedding picture that still hung in the upstairs hall. I could tell by the empty swear jar that Mom stationed on the mantelpiece when I was five and was afraid she was influencing me with her foul language. I could tell by the way he still baked her favorite cookies (double chocolate, of course) at least twice a week just like he used to when they were together.

I know she missed him. I know it took every ounce of her strength not to go back to him. I know because I watched her face crumple when I mentioned him; because I found the faded picture of him in her sock drawer.

Polar opposites. They somehow still loved each other.

That love had resulted in me: a dangerous concoction of all of their worst flaws. All of their worst flaw including Mom's unrestrained tongue. So instead of just laughing along with my Dad like a normal person would, I got defensive.

"No," I snapped. "I was just about to get it."

So much for being nicer to him.

* * *

My muddy converse smacked the wet pavement loudly as I sprinted for Quileute Kitchen. I threw open the door with a dull sense of relief and bent over, clutching side. I felt like there was a knife wedged between my ribs. I tried to catch my breath as I tied my apron around my waist with shaking fingers.

"Finally cared to show up?"

I looked over my shoulder, still breathing heavily. "Sorry, Leah. I got caught up in my book…didn't realize…"

She raised an eyebrow. "You're a half an hour late."

"I know, I know. I'm sorry," I panted.

"You're lucky it's a slow night," she allowed. I guess that was as forgiven as I was going to get. Her face softened slightly and an unreadable expression came into her eyes. "There's a customer who requested you."

"Requested _me_?"

"Yes," she said forcefully. Her face hardened back into its usual indifferent mask. "He's been waiting for thirty minutes. Lets not make him wait any longer."

"Somebody waited a half hour just to have me as their server?"

_"Go!" _Leah growled.

She was pointing to a booth against the front window of the restaurant. I quickly made my way over, eager to escape Leah.

I should have known who would be sitting there. However, I seemed to be remarkably dim witted today so it came as a surprise when my eyes locked on a pair of deep brown ones. I should have known. I had suspected it earlier.

There was a jolt in my chest, like I had received a small electric shock. It was nowhere near as potent as what I had felt last night, but strong enough to remind me of it. I inhaled sharply and froze five feet away from the table.

The boy jumped up. A big grin stretched across his face. His eyes glowed.

"Hiya!" he greeted me enthusiastically.

"Hello," I mumbled a beat to late. I tore my eyes away and looked down at my feet, my cheeks coloring deep pink.

"Do you wanna sit down?" he inquired hopefully.

I shook my head slowly. "I can't. Leah would have my head."

The boy laughed like I was kidding. "Aw, don't worry about Leah. She won't mind."

I decided it was safe to glance up. "Like hell she won't. She would rather gnaw her own arm off than do me a favor."

"Probably," he agreed with a laugh. "She will do _me _a favor, though."

I shot Leah a fleeting look. "If I get in trouble, I'm holding you personally responsible."

His smile widened as he slid into the booth. "I'm okay with that."

"Alright, then," I sighed and took the seat opposite him.

"Why are you so wet?" he asked immediately. I felt my dripping hair self-consciously.

"It's raining." Why else?

He frowned. "You walked here." It wasn't a question. "How come you didn't take an umbrella?"

"I was in a hurry. I didn't have time." Why does it matter?

"How old are you?" he abruptly changed the topic.

"I'm sixteen. How old are you?" I shot back.

A peculiar smile lit up his face. "Seventeen," he chuckled like he was enjoying some private joke.

"Are you lying to me?" I demanded.

He didn't answer my question, instead moving onto his own.

"Your name is Sophia Long, right?"

"Yes," I relied slowly, suddenly realizing I didn't even know his name. "Will you tell me yours?"

"Seth," he said, then added after a second, "Clearwater."

"Oh! Are you related to Leah?"

I studied his face with new understanding. I could see the similarity between their faces. They both had the same thin face, deep set, dark eyes, and glossy black hair.

"Her brother," he grimaced.

Sympathy surged through me. "Yikes. I thought I had it bad, having to work with her…"

He smiled again and shook his head. "You have no idea."

There was a pause. Seth stared at my face so intently that my cheek flamed again and I looked down, squeezing my eyes shut.

"You're making me feel really uncomfortable," I complained.

"Oh…" he said. "Sorry."

There was another pause. I wanted so badly to ask what was going on, but I didn't know how to phrase it right.

Suddenly, his head snapped to the side. He cocked his head towards the window, eyes squinted in concentration, as if he was listening to something.

"Damn," he muttered, standing up. "I gotta go."

"Oh, okay, then," I blinked, surprised.

"I'll see you soon," he said sincerely. Then, he was picking his way towards the door where Leah was standing. They spoke for a moment before he rushed through the door and out into the rain.

* * *

**Really short chapter. Sorry, guys. It probably wouldn't even have been finished today if not for IzzyTheNinja. Thank you Izzy for motivating me to update. Your review made me laugh.**

**Okay, I've got a couple things:**

**1) Do you think I'm portraying Seth right? I'm not sure. I'm trying to stay in line with the book…**

**2) I'm sorry that there wasn't much Seth in this chapter either, but I'm trying to ease him into the story, you know? I don't want them to not know each other in one chapter and then be in love in the next. Understand?**

**3) There isn't a third thing. I don't know why I'm writing this. **

**I'm trying for quality not quantity, but I'll do my best to update soon. Thanks to all that reviewed. I really do appreciate it. I'm not kidding when I say they light up my day. They're my motivation to write more.**

**Love always, **

**PeanutButter1212**


	5. Chapter 5

Mom was sitting on the couch behind me, running a brush through my curls. She sang to me in a pretty, flowing language I had never heard before. Her voice dipped and twirled through the lyrics, forming the most unique sound I'd ever heard. I wanted to ask her what she was singing, where she had learned it, but my words came out silent. Frustrated, I turned my head to glare at her for surely it was her fault. My head wouldn't move. I was paralyzed, I realized with a growing sense of panic.

Suddenly, Mom raked the brush over the right corner of my forehead. I didn't feel anything, but when she brought it away, I saw that the brush was not full of bristles but covered in jagged shards of blood-dappled broken glass.

And then I could move again. My hand shot up to check for damage. It didn't hurt to touch, but my fingers came away slick with my blood. I could feel it dripping down the side of my face like scarlet tears. I gasped soundlessly and whipped around to stare in shock at my mother.

She was slumped over the arm of the couch, her dark twists of hair covering her face. Fear gripped me. I scrambled backwards, falling from the couch, falling down…down.

I woke with a shaky gasp. I sat up quickly and pushed my bangs off my face. I knew there would be no blood, no fresh cuts, only the healed over scars that slanted across my forehead and temple and then disappeared into my hairline. My fingers ran across their slightly raised, now- because of my night after night inspection- familiar shapes.

Once I felt sure enough my head wasn't going to spontaneously start gushing blood, I removed my hand and reflattened my curls over my forehead. My hands were shaking.

I shoved my comforter down to the foot of my bed and swung my legs around so they touched the cold floor. I rubbed my tired eyes. A quick glance at the clock told me it was 3:12 A.M. I mentally calculated the sleep I had gotten (almost two hours and forty five minutes- an average night). I knew there was no chance of falling back asleep and I had over four hours to kill before school so I pulled out my sketchbook, intent on fixing the error in my sketches of Carrie.

It was easy enough now that I knew what the problem was. I had drawn Carries lips too perfectly. I could see in my mind her uneven smile, her bottom lip to full for the top one. Her lips weren't as long as in my drawing either.

When it was finished I stared down at it jealously. Carrie was so irritatingly, effortlessly pretty. It wasn't fair.

I flipped to a clean page and let my pencil hover over the page. I was at a loss as to what to draw. Usually, my hand darted across the paper thoughtlessly. There was always something on my brain that I wanted to get out.

Almost always it was my mother. I had three sketchbooks full of her. I couldn't draw her so early in the morning, though. Not right after another nightmare when my nerves were already raw as if somebody had rubbed them down with sandpaper.

Nothing was coming to me now. No ideas. Slowly, I pressed the dull end of my pencil the page, hoping for inspiration to spontaneously form. To my great surprise, it did.

I pulled out my tin of Prismacolor Pencils, shading as accurately as my memory would allow me. Within minutes, I had a perfect replica of Seth Clearwater's eyes dominating the majority of the paper.

It was funny- odd, even- how perfectly clearly I could remember his eyes. The exact shape, the exact hue, the exact way his eyelashes slanted slightly up and towards the corners of his eyes. It was clearer than any memory I had. I could remember his eyes, his face, his voice better than anyone's- better than my mom's, better, even, than my own. I didn't understand.

I didn't understand anything about Seth Clearwater or the abrupt curiosity he had expressed over me. The confusion ate me away like acid. It burned. I was a perpetually curios person. I was knowledge thirsty. I wanted- needed- to know everything. I couldn't help it. Ignorance didn't suit me. It made me feel uncomfortable and incredibly unremarkable. Without my intelligence, I was just a bitter, bratty sixteen year old girl going absolutely nowhere in life.

I pushed Seth Clearwater out of my mind. It was doing no good to dwell on the mysteries of our strange and confounding relationship (if you can even call it that).

I shoved my sketchbook back beneath my pillow and stood up, yawning and stretching as I did. I made my bed neatly, tidied my already OCD-level clean room, and then headed to the kitchen.

I didn't flip on any lights as I went. I didn't want to wake Dad. I ate my toast and flipped through _The Outsiders_ by the dim light of my clip-on reading lamp Inevitably, my mind wandered and I found myself skimming the pages without really understanding what I was reading.

I was thinking about Finn; about the kiss in the lunchroom. The more I pondered it, the more angry, the more indignant I got. Who the hell did he think he was? He had no right…and right in the middle of the cafeteria…right in front of Embry Call, friend of Seth Clearwater… It was so arrogant of him to assume that I would like it. I'm sure any other girl would. I guess I was just weird.  
I could see the appeal of Finn, though. He was funny and clever and handsome. I was attracted to him too. I didn't like his games, though. I didn't see the humor in humiliating someone with a singing invitation or the fun in surprising a girl you barely even know with a kiss.

His cocky attitude bothered me too. I hated his stupid smirk and the way he arched one eyebrow and looked down at me superiorly. It made my palms itch with the urge to slap him, to wipe that overconfident smile off his handsome face.

The part of me that liked Finn warred with the part that screamed, _"Player!" _ I knew that the defiant part of me was the logical one. I knew I would never have Finn- that we would never work. He _would _play me if I gave him the chance. But there was a part of me, a very, very small part of me that wanted to let him.

I blew out a breath and stuffed and another piece of toast into my mouth. I rolled my eyes at myself. I always over-thought things. My mind raced too far into the future to do me any good. 

* * *

Carrie grinned at me when I slid into her car. It was mischievous smile- a smile that screamed bad news. I was immediately on guard.

"What?" I questioned cautiously. She smirked at my suspicious expression.

"Homecoming's tomorrow," she reminded me lightly, smile still in place.

My jaw clenched. "I know."

She rolled her eyes at me. "It's _fun_, Sophia."

"I guess," I said even though I doubted that there was anything less fun on earth than wearing an uncomfortable dress in a too hot room with a bunch of sweaty kids dancing in an awkward, overly sexual way around you.

"Anyways," Carrie barreled on, "you're coming over around noon tomorrow so we can get ready together and take pictures."

"Don't you think it would be just a bit more polite to _ask_ me, Carrie?"

"I don't see the point," she replied, unconcerned as always. "You're coming whether you want to or not."

"Nice to know I've got a say in the manner," I answered sarcastically. I didn't push it any farther than that, though. I would go to Carrie's tomorrow just as she wanted, but I knew- and I think she did too- that she couldn't make me if I was determined not to. Nobody could make me do anything anymore.

Carrie turned up the music and sang along to some song I really disliked. We rode in silence until we pulled into the lot behind the school. My eyes zeroed in on the gigantic figure of Embry Call leaning against the worn brick wall of the building.

I knew he was waiting for me. His eyes darted around the parking lot in a calm search for my face. Unfortunately, there was no way to get to the doors leading inside without him seeing me. In the spirit of not being a little bitch, I walked straight up to him.

Carrie trailed after me hesitantly. She must have seen Embry's defensive stance- the way his arms were folded over his muscular chest and how his black eyebrows pushed down over his dark eyes, hiding them in the shadows.

"Go on to class, Carrie," I shooed her. "He obviously just needs to talk to me for a minute."

"Obviously…" she trailed off, taking in Embry's menacing form again. She clearly was not satisfied for she whined, "But you'll be late for Chemistry!"

"Tell Mr. Barth that I had to go to the office to call my dad and that I'll be down there in a minute."

Carrie scowled unhappily. "If you're not sitting in the seat next to mine in ten minutes, I'm going to the police," she warned.

I laughed as she strode towards the building. What a drama queen.

Embry pushed off the wall and approached me at her departure. He wore a disapproving scowl identical to Carrie's.

"You're dating Finn Whethers." It wasn't a question or even a statement. It was an accusation.

"No," I growled through gritted teeth. I glared right back at him. "And you've got some nerve for thinking it's any of your business."

"So you just randomly kiss strangers, then?" he demanded.

"He's not a stranger, first of all!" I said, firing up instantly. "We're going to homecoming together. _Not_ dating," I hissed. "Secondly, that kiss was not my fault so don't you dare put this on me! You don't know what happened!"

"You seemed to be enjoying yourself."

"Is this a joke?!" I burst out furiously. "You don't even know me! Mind your own goddamn business!"

"You are my business," he said surely.

"I am nobody's business, do you hear me?"

He rolled his eyes at me like I was a bratty child throwing a silly temper tantrum.

I could feel my mouth watering as it always does when I'm as enraged as I was then. I balled my hands into fists, turned on heel, and marched to the school.

That mother fucker had the balls to laugh as I walked away.

* * *

I stared fiercely at my disheartening reflection in the mirror in Carrie's bathroom. Other than slipping on my dress, I was ready for homecoming, but I felt extremely dissatisfied with my appearance.

Aren't girls supposed to look beautiful and sophisticated and different? Because I certainly didn't. I looked almost exactly like I always did. I had applied my usual coat of mascara, but smudged some eyeliner around my eyes to add some variation. I applied some lip gloss and rubbed it off on the back of my hand almost immediately, hating the stickiness.

Deciding I looked too plain, I straightened my hair. It was awkward trying to straighten my bangs without revealing my scars to Carrie. For one heart-stopping moment I thought she'd caught a glimpse of them, but then she grinned and informed me that I had eyeliner on my nose.

I regretted flattening my curls after I'd finished doing it. The change was nice and the length of my straight hair was surprising (almost four inches longer than my curly hair). It now reached the edge of my rib cage. But I thought it dulled me somehow. It made me look even more emotionless and haughty. My curls, at least, gave off the illusion of that I was a perky person.

With a sigh, I bobby pinned half of my hair up (leaving my bangs down, of course) and gave up. It didn't matter that much.

Carrie came skipping into the bathroom, her beautiful green dress whirling around her thighs. She had her light brown hair down and pushed back off her face with deep green cotton headband. It was the first time I had seen her hair out of its careless messy bun. She wore it in uneven layers that fell in waves to her shoulders. Ugh. And I thought she couldn't get prettier. I was wrong.

"Sophia, go get your dress on! Now!" she demanded as she literally shoved me from the room.

"I'm going! I'm going!" I muttered. I headed back to her bedroom and quickly slid into my dress. I hooked my heels onto my feet, doing the silver buckle. I stood up and surveyed myself in the full length mirror on the back of Carrie's door.

The shoes, which I had found in a box of my mom's things in the back of my closet, went well with the dress. They were black wedges with small pink and red and white flowers twisting across them. I didn't like wearing heels, though. They were uncomfortable and, in my opinion, hard to walk in.

The dress was pretty, but I thought it deserved a more worthy owner. Someone who didn't feel self-conscious in it and have to pull up the edge of it every five seconds.

I also couldn't shake the feeling that I looked whore-esque. The dress was not very revealing- no more so than Carrie's. Maybe it was the brilliant, bold red that made my mind jump to that conclusion. There was no use in stressing about it now. It was too late to do anything about it.

Carrie popped her head in the door. "Ready to go? Bevis and Butthead are getting impatient."

"Yes," I said, nervously brushing off my skirt.

"Yay!" She clapped her hands together with a huge smile on her face. "Let's go!"

* * *

**Hey guys. Yes, I know this chapter took a while. Yes, I know it was short. I'm sorry. I'm going to stop promising to update soon, though, because I've discovered I can't keep that promise. Sorry. **

**Anywho, I planned on putting homecoming in this chapter, but it didn't seem to want to come out of my pencil. I thought you'd rather have the chapter now without homecoming than have it probably next weekend with it. I'm still deciding what is going to happen at homecoming.**

**So what'd you think? Do you think that Sophia overreacted about what Embry said or was he out of line? Do you like how I'm writing the affects of the imprint on Sophia. I've always wondered how it would influence Emily and Kim and Claire and Rachel and Renesme. This is my take. **

**I am currently reading the Outsiders. That is why Sophia is reading it. I couldn't think of anything else. If you haven't read it, I strongly recommend it. It's a great book.**

**Yeah, yeah. **

**-PeanutButter12**


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